Upon Release From Prison

by Glenn Langohr

  Annette looked at the Orange County Register to see what the article of B.J was about. The headline stated, SAN CLEMENTE BASED AUTHOR, BENNY JOHNSON, HAS WARRANT FOR BEING A PAROLEE AT LARGE. The article went on to say that B.J wrote about a drug war with some anti-prison union sentiment. Then the article mentioned he had a history of drug related convictions and assault and battery charges and that “maybe he was going back to prison to do some last minute fact checking.”

  Annette wondered, could this get turned into good publicity for B.J’s novel? She read the rest of the article and found an angle. The assault and battery charge mentioned in the paper was actually the Orange County jail deputies many years ago when B.J was interviewed by Patrick Healy over a police brutality case. In retaliation, they had assaulted B.J and turned it around by charging him. The saving grace was that it was on video. The video had shown jail deputies shoving B.J into a wall to the point he had to defend himself from imminent injury. B.J had beaten the charges in trial...

  Thoughts flew through Annette’s mind on how to get this vital piece of info to the Register and the rest of the media. Then, interrupting those thoughts, the man who ran to visiting from the Mercedes came running out.

  Maltobano sat with a room full of detectives watching the inmates. A detective nearby said, “In visiting booth number 1 we have “Pelon” from El Monte. He’s a foot soldier and validated gang member. In booth 3 we have “Rocky” from Big Hazard. We think he’s Mexican Mafia. In booth 7 we have “Big Ray Ray” from East-side Clover and in booth 9 we have “Mr. Soto” from La Puente. Both Mafia.”

  The detective next to Maltobano said, “That’s Stintson in booth 5. He’s A.B.”

  Maltobano watched the inmates hold one conversation through the visiting phone and another with their hands in sign language. He heard Chuco ask how their grandmother was doing through the phone but with his fingers he signed, what’s happening in Mexico? Veto responded that grandma was okay while he finger signed, we need to find someone to drive a massive load across.

  Damon sat down and picked up the visiting phone. He explained that Pincher had set him up again. He’d been to court 5 times already and the district attorney was offering 2 years. His public defender was telling him to take it. I watched Damon finger sign with his right hand, do you want to make big money? I didn’t bother finger signing my response, “Of course.”

  Damon said, “Don’t talk.” Then he signed, the Mexicans have a 100 million dollar load waiting to come across. They need a White driver. You would make a million in dope. Do you want to do it?

  I felt my brain lock up. I was trying to keep it in check but it didn’t work. Thoughts of doing one drug run to insure I could get Annette and I off the streets seeped in until that was all I could think about. I felt my ingrained behavior polluting my soul and grabbing control of me but I finger signed where my heart was trying to take me.

  Maltobano watched Chuco finger sign; I think we have a driver. Then he pointed to Damon in the next booth. Then he watched Chuco finger sign, his homeboy visiting him is B.J and he is well known for doing good biz.

  Veto read Chuco’s fingers and remembered who B.J was. Topo had spoken highly of him. He looked at B.J and nodded his head and finger signed, green light. Hit him up so we can all start getting paid.

  I looked at Damon in the eyes and finger signed; I need you to gather people to protest the prison union with me. I need you to get all of the inmates to send art to my P.O box. I stopped finger signing and realized how futile my vision was. It was too big for me. I was on the run. I couldn’t do it. The inmates were caught up in addiction and street life, most on the run also. Almost all of them were fighting charges in court. It was like they all had blindfolds on. All stuck on a leash yanking them, yanking them toward a cliff. How could I get them to take the blindfolds off and unite against an out of control system? It would take serious leadership. I can’t do it. I thought about how I’d just handed the church my prison list of inmates. That list was better off with the church but...The church wasn’t going to take care of my prison protest for me...Then, my thoughts went to the drug run.

  Maltobano watched Damon finger sign, do you want to do the drug run and make a million in dope? You could make enough money to hire Mexicans to hold signs for the protest. You could make enough money to push your novel in L.A and turn it into a movie!

  Maltobano tried to see what B.J was finger signing back. The angle of the video camera was wrong. He couldn’t see B.J’s fingers but heard him through the visiting phone yell, “FUCK!!”

  Maltobano asked the other detectives, “Is there another video on the visitors? I need to see what he’s finger signing!”

  The detective next to Maltobano said, “Be quiet! I’m trying to see how Stintson is getting dope into the jail!”

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  Annette watched the man. He hurried into the Mercedes and drove right in front of the visiting doors and parked off to the side. He was watching the throng of released visitors. B.J and a Mexican came out talking to each other under their breath. She watched B.J let the rest of the released visitors pass he and the Mexican. As they passed, B.J and the Mexican backed up to the side of the visiting doors so their backs were against the building.

  Annette thought, I have to do something. That man in the Mercedes is watching them. She grabbed a handful of postcards and rushed toward visiting.

  I stepped through the visiting doors waiting for Veto to bring up the drug run again. My mind was imagining the money and the power. Damon had said you could hire Mexicans to hold signs for the rally and turn your novel into a movie. I tried to control my impulses. I couldn’t. On instinct I let the rushing jail visitors pass us by and slowed my pace to a stop and backed along the wall to talk.

  Veto put his hand up over his mouth as if he were coughing. “B.J do you want to make the million-dollar run for us or not...”

  My lips were locked down. My teeth were clamped. I wanted to say, I’LL DO IT! I didn’t want to do it! Before I opened my mouth, I saw Annette. She was walking fast, too fast. I looked at her eyes. She was worried. I looked at her hands. They were full.

  I told Veto through almost sealed lips, “My fiance is coming. Something’s wrong.”

  I saw what my fiance had in her hands, my postcards for Roll Call. I studied the area for a second and then looked in her eyes as she got to us and asked, “What’s wrong.”

  “There is a man in a white Mercedes watching you. He’s 20 feet away to the right.”

  I heard the engine but didn’t look. Neither did Veto.

  Veto said, “I’m gone.”

  I hugged Annette and kissed her and watched Veto walk into the mass of released jail visitors. I decided to do some marketing and grabbed some of the postcards. I stopped a black lady and handed her one. She asked, “What is this?”

  “It’s a drug war novel I wrote while in prison about God over evil.”

  The black lady looked at the postcard and said, “I’ll take some of that.”

  I passed some more postcards out to walkers heading to their vehicles and was able to see the man in the white Mercedes. Why do I think I know him? I walked backward and stayed in his way. I stopped a Mexican lady right in front of the Mercedes so he’d have to wait. I acted oblivious to the Mercedes and even put a postcard on his windshield with the wiper locking it down. The next person I handed a postcard to was a grandfather. We talked about the novel for a few minutes until I was near our car. I got out of the way of the Mercedes and watched. The Mercedes inched passed me. I saw the picture of my blurry face with the fedora brim through the driver window. It was facing the man in the Mercedes.

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  CHAPTER--29

  Pincher sat across from attorney Anthony Berrara and remembered the first visit. The attorney was taking the case on contingency. He stared across the mahogany desk at a pictu
re and plaque behind the attorney on the wall. The plaque noted that the attorney went to an unheard of law school in New Mexico. The picture showed the attorney marching at the front of a line of thousands of illegal migrants from south of the border. The headline in the L.A Times read: ATTORNEY BERRARA, CHAMPION FOR MIGRANTS

  Pincher thought, that law school in New Mexico is a fraud. They probably pass out law degrees like the border Mexicans pass out Chiclets to tourist. It’s easier for Mexicans on this side of the border than for whites who grew up here.

  Attorney Anthony Berrara studied Pincher and thought about their first visit when Veto dropped him. Veto had said Pincher had a heroin and meth habit. It looked obvious now, that Pincher was wired on meth. Pincher’s face showed manipulative eyes that creased into a pinched frown always darting around with hunger. It looked like a hunger for self-gratification and glory. The attorney thought, I better feed him to manipulate him in the right direction.

  Berrara asked, “How is your head from the beating the Crip gangsters gave you?”

  “I’m fine. I would have gotten them but there were too many.”

  “I could get you a pain reliever like Oxycotin.”

  Pincher said, “I’m still hurting bad.”

  Berrara asked, “How is your brain working?”

  “I’m sharp.”

  “I can get you a prescribed crystal-meth if you are experiencing any trouble focusing.”

  Pincher said, “My thoughts are jumbled. I can’t think.”

  The attorney laughed to himself, fuckin gringos, they’re all the same, this is going to be easy, then thought about it. If Lieutenant Sawyer gives Pincher a drug test it will blow our case...

  “Pincher...Lieutenant Sawyer wants your ass. I don’t get it. You are a hero. The media loves you...The problem is Sawyer. We have to defend ourselves in the interest of truth and justice. I want you to get these prescriptions so the ailments you’re dealing with don’t get twisted into a charge of you using drugs illegally. Don’t drive while under the medication of course...”

  Pincher grinded his teeth and nodded his head. Then got greedy...

  “How much are we suing for? Last time you said anywhere from 7 mill to 50 mill. I say we shoot for the moon. That way even if we miss we still land in the stars...”

  The attorney nodded his head and thought; this is where we find out how resourceful Pincher is...

  “We are going to get millions. How many depends on the details and how we manage them.”

  Pincher butted in. “I’m a detail freak and my specialty is in management.”

  The attorney nudged Pincher in the right direction... “Since you work as a narcotic detective you must have arrested dozens of Black crack dealers... One or two of them is all we need as witnesses...”

  Driving away from the attorney’s office Pincher thought about the details. He remembered the news footage. I should be a hero! I lost count of how many scum bags I’ve arrested over the years and this is how I get treated?

  Pincher pulled the loaded snifter full of speed and snorted a jolt and thought harder. What if I find some broke-dick crack-heads and get them to say they were the ones who took part in beating me and shooting me up with dope? I could pay them off with money and dope... I could tell them that the notoriety and publicity would make them pimps for life... Pincher snorted another jolt of speed from the snifter and expanded the thought... This could turn into a 60 Minutes Show... Even a Documentary... Or a Movie! Me and these niggas would be set for life!

  CHAPTER—30

  I drove away from the L.A jail with my legs steering the wheel so my hands could take the battery out of my cell phone.

  Annette asked, “Why are you taking the battery out?”

  “The government can triangulate with satellites to see exactly where you are and where you are headed. They can also use your own cell phone as a listening device to hear our conversation right now besides monitoring calls and text messages...I’m not sure if they can remote access the phone and power it up so I take the battery out…”

  I parked in an underground parking lot a few miles from the jail and thought. I want to do the drug run and make a quick mill. I don’t want to do it. I want to tell Annette. I don’t want to tell Annette. I had to talk about it to vent or I might pop...

  Annette watched B.J drive without his hands but looked at his face. Those eyes, those bright mirrors of blue-green that at times radiate a mixture of love-anger-worry-energy and extreme concentration. When I look into those pools of blue-green they make my knees weak. She stared into them and listened to B.J.

  “They offered me a job.”

  “Who are they?”

  “The mafia.”

  “Don’t do it!”

  Annette thought about some of the rumors she’d heard about B.J...They can’t be true. She thought about the novel Roll Call, a light fictionalization of his troubled youth. He admitted a certain level of drug dealing with pot and speed... Did it go as far as the rumors...? Was B.J ever a “cartel level gun and drug dealer” or worse, a “hit man”?

  Annette asked, “B.J were you ever a cartel drug runner?”

  “Never... This is the first time I’ve been asked.”

  “Then don’t do it! Don’t you see if you do it you will validate all those false accusations?”

  I knew she was right. I knew it in my gut, I knew it in my heart, and I knew it in my soul. That didn’t help reality. Reality was that I was going back to prison for sure and that I was broke and unable to afford taking care of us. I felt utterly useless. My mind was yelling at me–DO IT!

  I watched Annette’s eyes beg me not to. She knew I was at the edge and about to fall off into a reckless pattern of not give a fuck, make that money and stack the buck. She looked away for a second and leaned down and handed me a newspaper.

  I looked at the local section of the Orange County Register. It was folded so I couldn’t miss the cover of my novel with the helicopter flying above a prison shining a light on an escapee with crime scene tape behind him.

  Annette said, “Benny don’t you see your past is catching up to you and you can’t do it. I love you. I love the mischievous little boy in you. I can see your heart. Be who you really are...”

  I wondered…Who am I? Before trying to figure out that dangerous slope another article caught my attention. Pincher was the headline. It went on to say that he was on paid leave and under an internal investigation for alleged drug use. I knew how Damon could beat his case. He could rush a jury trial and the D.A would have to dismiss the charge. Pincher wouldn’t be able to step foot in a courtroom. He wasn’t credible.

  CHAPTER—31

  Maltobano looked into Director Bonafino’s eyes and waited for him to respond.

  “So you don’t know if B.J is going to do the drug run?”

  “No. I couldn’t see what he was communicating in sign language.”

  “Did you see what he was driving and run a make?”

  “No, he sacrificed himself for Veto to get away by staying in front of my car and even stuck this postcard facing me in my wiper, When he finally got out of my way I was in such a hurry to catch up to Veto I didn’t even think to see which car he got in.”

  “Do you think he will do it?”

  “I don’t know. He is under a massive amount of stress with that PAL warrant out for his arrest.”

  “I don’t think he’ll do it. B.J is more of a revolutionary. But just in case he turns into an extremist and rationalizes one run we have to assume he’ll do it. I will monitor his, Veto’s and Crystal’s cell phones at all levels. I want you to follow B.J half the time and Veto the other half. Stay in contact with me non-stop.”

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  CHAPTER—32 BUS RIDE TO COURT

  Damon and Chuco stood at the end of the line waiting. More than 100 L.A county detainees shuffled forward in a procession that ended in handcuffs and a bus ride to court. Two lines me
rged into one where one man’s left wrist was handcuffed to another man’s right wrist. The last ten men, men fighting violent felonies, gang leaders and those prone to run for freedom given the chance, didn’t have that luxury.

  A senior deputy with a clipboard in his hand announced in a booming voice, “Hi-powered runners get the body jewelry.”

  Another deputy slid a box over and dumped the noisy metal chains and picked one up. The first detainee to get the jewelry did as he was told and kneeled on a bench. The deputy attached a handcuff to one ankle and then the other ankle. The detainee stood up and filled his lungs with air while the second set of chains wrapped around his waist, and then each wrist was placed in handcuffs and locked gun fighter style. Each wrist was locked against the hip chain for the rest of the day.

  On the bus ride Damon looked out the window and saw the courthouse. Men and women hurried into the courtroom. Some were fighting charges from freedom and some were working the other side of the law. Damon thought about his case. There was a good chance it would be dismissed today. He imagined how many other people had been set-up, with evidence planted? There probably weren’t that many. Even though actually being framed was a rare thing, a police report that was embellished or downright wrong wasn’t. The public defenders who were supposed to fight for rights should take the stance that the police reports were often fiction based on partial fact.